Rent
by morninggrey
Summary: I live a simple life. I wake to cannons, ruin perfectly good sweet potatoes, avoid bloodthirsty landladies, and pay my rent. The first three are normal occurrences - the last one, not so much. Who knew rent could get me in this much trouble? Itachi/OC. AU.
1. Sweet Potato Girl

**August 23, 1999. 9:14 am.**

 **In homeroom/mathematics, slightly embarrassed and very wet, recounting this morning's events. I have decided that I officially hate sweet potatoes.**

 _BANG BANG BANG_. "YAMAMOTO! GET UP, YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOUR ALARM IS WAKING EVERYONE BUT YOU!"

Ah yes. That would be the sound of my landlady - a big breasted woman with big temper to match - accompanied by cannons booming in Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. It's one of my favorite records (so much drama, so much Russian flair!) and one of my neighbors' least. Probably because of the cannons. And the fact that it always plays on full volume.

I don't realize that I'm running late and continue to revel in the glory of Mother Russia and Napoleon's defeat (like, seriously, who decides to invade Russia in the winter?). Peter Ilyich really knew what he was doing with those cannons. And that _melody!_ It really makes me want to march and skewer some French soldiers triumphantly, if you know what I mean.

"YAMAMOTO! THAT ALARM HAS BEEN GOING FOR OVER TWENTY MINUTES NOW! WAKE UP NOW OR I'M _DOUBLING YOUR RENT!"_

Not my rent! I can barely pay it now as it is!

So, with the sufficient motivation (money is _always_ sufficient motivation), I check the time, scream, and smash my hand on the CD player/alarm/clock. The disk flies out and hits me in the face, resulting in a angry red line across the bridge of my nose. I don't bother picking it up from the ground since I'm too angry at it and pat the table next to my bed to find my glasses.

You know, today was really the worst day to wake up late. Not only is it the first day of the first term of the new school year, but it's also my first day at a new school. Before, I was just some ordinary, no-name kid at one of the outer no-name secondary schools (the ones you don't need to test into because no one notable goes there), but now I'm an official scholarship student at the Konohagakure Academy Private School for the Performing Arts. KAPPA for short.

Just to clear things up though, I'm not particularly talented or anything. I just happen to really like music and my scores are pretty decent (I'm a pretty clever cookie, if I may say so myself), so I applied. I'm pretty sure I got in on the basis of "student body diversity" since, you know, I don't have any real arts background (besides two short years of piano lessons) and every school's got to have a few bad kiwis thrown in here and there. Good thing though is that I don't have to pay since I'm on scholarship, so even if I'm not exactly a super stellar spectacular student, it doesn't matter because it's _freeeeee_.

Well, they could always revoke that or kick me out, but I'd rather not think of that right now.

I get ready in half the normal time (that means skipping morning tea, sloppily pulling on my new uniform, and hastily tying up my unwashed hair into a lopsided ponytail), grab a baked sweet potato lying on the counter, and run off to catch the last bus and avoid the raging landlady who's out for my money and my blood (mostly my blood, I'll worry about rent later). I only accomplish the latter, since she can't exactly run with her huge boobs flopping up and down.

I really feel bad for people with big boobs. I really do. It's a tough life.

I end up missing the bus, which really isn't a surprise, but then I get sprayed by water by some guy watering his lawn as I'm running down the street like a maniac, which really _is_ a surprise. So surprising, in fact, that I trip and fall on my half-eaten (and now soggy) sweet potato.

Why do all bad things happen on the most important of days?

So, yeah, I run the rest of the way to KAPPA late, hungry, wet, and with a big orange blob in the middle of my white uniform shirt.

The entrance ceremony had already ended by the time I made it there (I was now a grand total of forty minutes late), and I don't know what room to go to for my timetable, so I wander around the school (which is really, really big, mind you) until I run into an old man smoking a pipe. Like, literally, _run into_. I got some orange stain on him as well.

I'm too startled to apologize, much less form coherent speech. "U-uh..."

The old man looks down at me with what seems like amusement as he takes another puff from his pipe and wipes off the front of his shirt. "Do you need any help there, child?"

At this point my vocal chords still aren't working properly, so I just nod.

"Grade eight?"

I frown. I'm short, but does that really make me look like a grade eight student?

He seemed to get the message from my face. "Nine?"

I shake my head.

"Ten?"

I nod.

His mouth opens slightly in a silent "ah" and beckons me to follow. I follow obediently and try to pick off the drying pieces of potato from my shirt.

We end up going back the way I came in. He takes me to a wall at the front with big lists of names lined up by grade level. I mentally hit myself for not checking it in the first place.

Like, it was right there. _Right there_. Smack dab in the front of the school, right across the entrance.

I don't know how I managed to miss it.

With a smile, the old man hands me a map of the school, pats my back, gives a "have a nice day at school," and walks off.

Somehow, I feel like he knew who I was the whole time. Something about him feels so...omniscient. Like God, but super old and spotty and with a pipe and a goatee.

I find my name on the list under class 10-B in room A312. The class isn't far and it's not hard to find on the map (which is actually HUGE because they have to fit all five buildings - A, B, C, D, and E - and the floor plans for each of the four floors), but I have to climb three flights of stairs to get to it. It's a miracle that I didn't slip and fall considering that I was still sopping wet and tracking water and bits of sweet potato everywhere.

I find the class with relative ease (meaning it took less than fifteen minutes and only a small amount of panicking) but stop before I walk in. I take the time to compose myself and pick the remaining bits of orange from my shirt (the stain still remained, though).

 _Dear God/old man I ran into earlier today, please let the teacher be chill and and/or forgiving of latecomers._

Fortunately, the new sensei is _totally_ chill and forgiving of latecomers. Unfortunately, I'm as clumsy as a snake using chopsticks.

"Okay class. Now that we've gone over rollcall and seats -"

 _BANG._ (That would be me entering the room and tripping over a backpack that was at the entrance.)

Twenty-five pairs of eyes turn in my direction (many down to the orange stain on my shirt) and I can feel the heat rushing to my head. There's silence. And it's awkward. Oh so very awkward.

I feel so out of place. Everyone here looks like they have their life together (even the kid in the back, who's sleeping) and I'm here all soggy and stained and totally late.

The teacher - Genma-sensei, it says on his tag - looks a bit put out. I feel like he's embarrassed for me. After flipping through some pages in his notebook, he asks, "Uh, Yamamoto Suzume?"

I blink. "U-uhuh."

"Hm, I see. You're the scholarship student, aren't you?"

The class shifts. Some look at me in interest, and others look at me like I'm roadkill. Which I probably am, if I keep tripping at this rate.

"Uh, yes."

"Right. Glad you made it to class today despite your, ah," he looks over, "circumstances. You're in the back row, by the window."

I walk over and ignore the squishing sounds my wet sneakers make on the tile floor. On my right is a window that gives me a nice view of the courtyard underneath, and on the left is a boy with pitch-black hair and...were those stress lines? He gives me a once-over and wrinkles his nose before turning back to the teacher.

Well, that was rude.

Nothing else eventful happened from there. Genma-sensei outlined some rules ("treat teachers and peers respectfully, don't go on the roof, pay attention, don't eat during class, yadayadayada") but I feel like half of them will be broken by the end of the day. But from our teacher's enthusiasm - or rather, lack thereof - I don't think he'll really care.

Even now, as I write this, I'm pretty sure he knows that students don't normally draw graphs with bright green pen on lined paper, much less write. And he doesn't seem to mind either, even though he's looking straight at my desk. I think I'm oka -

* * *

 **12:14 pm.**

 **In the courtyard, eating lunch.**

Sorry for stopping earlier (why am I apologizing to a journal?). Genma-sensei was coming my way and I panicked and shoved everything but my pen into my desk. He was only there to close the window next to me though, and he gave me a weird look when he saw that I didn't have any paper on my desk but didn't question it.

Anyways, I get that the student body of KAPPA is ninety-nine percent rich and talented, but does lunch have to be so expensive? Like, does _one_ measly piece of curry bread _really_ have to cost 300 yen? _I don't have that kind of money, dammit!_

It's official. I'm bringing my lunch from now on.

The courtyard is pretty empty since it's really hot outside, but it was either here or the really really crowded dining hall. It seems that all the higher grades - nine through twelve - all have lunch at the same time. There's so many people. I'm not used to it.

And they all know each other! They've been in this school since they were wee little six-years (even though some of the six-years I saw are taller than me, gosh) and I'm just this no-name outsider from some no-name school. With a large, orange, sweet potato stain down my front. Lovely.

Urgh. Self-pity does not become me.

On a brighter note, my timetable says I have music theory and composition as my IPAE (intensive performing arts elective), so I'll be doing music-y stuff every Tuesday and Thursday for two hours. That's pretty nice.

 _TCHAIKOVSKY, SIBELIUS, RAVEL, MY LOVES, HERE I COME!_

* * *

 **3:21 pm.**

 **In biology, not doing biology things, waiting for the bell.**

It appears that our bio teacher is a burly, white-haired man-wall with an obsession with frogs. I'm not kidding. There's frog memorabilia _everywhere_.

We got lab partners today, and I got paired with this kid named Nara Shikano. He doesn't seem so bad. He just sleeps a lot.

Other than that, we haven't been doing anything. The teacher said that since it's the first day, we can just "hang around" and "get used to each other." Now he's at his desk writing furiously into this _huge_ notebook, looking up occasionally with this "EURIKA" expression on his face (which has a strange lewd quality to it sometimes, not gonna lie).

I wonder if I look like that when I write.

Also, there's a hoard of theatre kids in my class (very loud, very dramatic, extremely narcissistic at times). It appears that they're putting on a musical in a few weeks and they've taken it upon themselves to start singing and dancing on the tables. The teacher doesn't seem to care.

"How do you document real life, when real life is getting more like fiction each day? Headlines - bread-lines, blow my mind, and now this deadline: 'Eviction - or pay!' Rent!"

...oh shit. That reminds me.

(Note to self: ask Danzo about paycheck.)

* * *

 _ **A/N** Hellooo all! Welcome to Rent (not the musical)! I got this idea in the shower (like 99.4% of all my other ideas) and I decided to give it a shot. It's been a while since I've actually written anything, so this chappie is sort of a trial-run...ish. (I had to write the second half of this thing three times over since I kept accidentally exiting without saving. Woe is me.)_

 _Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please review, I love reviews and reviews are love. Thanks a bundle!_

 _\- morninggrey_


	2. Jobless

**10:21 pm.**

I'm upset. I can't talk about it right now.

* * *

 **10:21 pm. + 30 seconds**

I'm so mad.

Ugh.

 _Goddamned Danzo and his nasty, slimy, businessman tricks._

...

I'm just... _SO SALTY!_

* * *

 **10:23 pm.**

I remember reading somewhere that documenting your thoughts and feelings is healthy. Or at least healthier than letting it fester and rot and go sour inside. Like yogurt. Or pickles. I hate pickles.

Anyways, after school I went to work at The TapRoot, as normal, and I did my job and bussed and cleaned toilets, as normal. I said bye to some of the other employees as they left before me. And then I went to talk to my boss, cuz, you know, I haven't gotten any salary in a month and I gotta pay up in a week or the landlady will have my head.

"Um, uh, Danzo-sama?"

My boss looks up. He's a pretty scary guy, you know, with these weird looking eye tattoos along his arms and an eyepatch. Some say he just got cataracts, others say he got in a knife fight with the yakuza. Honestly, I think it's the latter. I hope next time he gets tangled with the yakuza that he'll lose more than an eye. Maybe a limb or two. Or his life.

He looks up from his paperwork and frowns. "What do you want?"

I fiddle with my thumbs. "Well, ah, I was just wondering," I gulp, "about my, uh, salary."

The one visible eyebrow raises. "What about your salary?"

"Well it's just that, you know, I haven't been paid." I shift my feet. "In a month or so."

At that, Danzo crosses his arms. I have a bad feeling about it. "You know, Suzume," he gestures me to sit, and I take a seat in the wooden chair in front of his desk, "recently, I looked at your files from when you first applied in May."

I blink. "Uhuh...?"

Danzo continues. "And on it, you said you're seventeen, correct?"

I nod.

"I remember thinking, 'this girl looks awfully young for seventeen.'"

I go stiff. "But sir, I can assure you, I'm seventeen! I'm just really short and a bit underdeveloped in some areas-"

He holds up his hand. "Don't lie. I know everything. I've known since from the beginning."

I blanch.

"Sir, ah, uh, what do you mean?"

Danzo stands. I feel myself recoil a bit.

"Suzume, do you know why I let your lie slide? Why I hired you?"

I shake my head.

"I knew you had no option." He paces the room, tapping his cane as he goes. "You're living on your own, aren't you? And that's definitely not legal, especially for a fifteen-year-old. God knows what would happen if that information got out."

I feel his gaze on me. It's steely and piercing. There's no more blood left to drain from my face. I'm pretty sure I'm as pale as a human can get by now, and I don't even need to powder my face. Even geisha would envy the pallor.

"As for your pay," he pauses, "I think I'll be cutting that. By half."

" _What?"_

Danzo looks straight at me. "Is there a problem?"

White hot rage takes over. Suddenly, I don't care that he's my boss, or that he's the one with the money, or even the fact that he knows of my lie. "Hell yeah, there's a problem! That's below minimum wage! That's - that's _illegal!_ "

He smiles. God, it looks so _wrong_ when he smiles. "So is your current living situation, from what I can tell. I'm giving you an option here. Half pay, or child protection services. Take it or leave it."

Within a matter of seconds, my face goes from paper white to blood red. And then I do something so incredibly _stupid_ that I'm currently hitting myself on the head over and over and over.

"You know what?" I get up from my chair and cross my arms. "I'll take neither. I _quit._ " I pull of my apron and throw it on the floor. And then I storm out of the room, not looking back, leaving my lifeline of pay behind.

Now, here I am, angry, jobless and nearly broke and so close to being evicted that I can just _taste_ the homelessness.

It tastes like pickles.

I _hate_ pickles.

* * *

 **August 24, 1999. 12:25 pm.**

 **T-minus three days till impending eviction. Lunch (but no lunch) in the courtyard.**

I barely got any sleep last night. I went to bed right after I washed my shirt (the stain is no more!) and just rolled around in my pathetic state until the sun rose. I didn't even wake up late enough to hear the cannon part of my alarm.

Didn't pack any lunch either (the fridge is empty) and the stuff here is just too damn expensive (e.g. 300 yen curry bread). So, I'm starving.

I managed to get to school on time though, so that's good. But Genma-sensei (and about half of the student population, I gather) apparently recognizes me as "Sweet Potato Girl," because that's what he greeted me as when I walked in the room.

I was in no mood to retaliate so I just glared at him and took my seat next to the window. The kid next to me seemed to notice my down-ness since he didn't give me that once-over-and-nose-wrinkle look that he gave me yesterday. Or maybe I'm just not worthy of his attention anymore, since I don't have a big orange blob on my chest. Who knows.

It appears he's quite the popular one, though. When we all filed out of class for lunch after history, I was nearly swarmed by a hoarde of girls. At first I thought there must have been a fire in the girl's bathroom, but then I realized that they were just after Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks, who happened to be standing a few feet in front of me.

"Itachi-kun, I made you lunch!" "Uchiha-san, I made some cupcakes! Do you want one?" "I brought an extra bento for you!"

Why does someone like _him_ get loads of food whereas I get _none?_

I must have voiced that thought out loud, since a bunch of the girls and Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks himself stopped to turn around and look at me, the former with judgemental/horrified looks on their faces and the latter with smug amusement. I just decide to keep walking.

I'll give him credit, though. He's a pretty good looking guy, minus those stress marks. He's definitely got the tall, dark, and mysterious vibe going for him.

Ah, whatever. I should probably get going since the lunch period ends in less than five minutes.

It's also Tuesday, so you know what that means?

IPAE, bae, I come for thee!

* * *

 **2:41 pm.**

 **In English, supposed to be reading, obviously not.**

I hate English. The sensei is old and nearly deaf and rants about the uses of semicolons versus colons versus a dash and since she's unable to hear herself she talks really really loudly all the time. And she doesn't let us use the bathroom. Which sucks, because that would've been my way out of her punctuation speeches.

But it's all okay because I had music theory and composition today, which, really, makes almost everything okay. I even managed to forget about the rent for a good two hours.

Oh God oh God oh God rent rent rent _I'm panicking again!_

Calm. Calm. Breaaaaaaaathe.

Okay. I'm okay.

Anyways, music theory and composition was great. The class is tiny with a grand total of ten kids. Our teacher is Anko-sensei. She's pretty young for a teacher, wears a trench coat even in the heat, eats a lot of dango, and is very sadistic. Her favorite composer, she said, is Schumann, because he was a total schizo and also because she loves his "Death and the Maiden." But mostly because he was a total schizo.

"You know," she told us, eyes ablaze and pointy dango stick pointed at the class, "in one of his later manuscripts, his composition trailed off to become doodles of cats. That man was a genius."

Aside from Anko-sensei's ramblings on the greatness of Schumann (although, I do agree, he is great), we were also introduced to our first assessment project for the semester. We are each going to compose a piece for a stringed instrument with piano accompaniment according to a certain theme.

"The themes will be unique for each of you and will be chosen at random," announced Anko-sensei. She held up a small basket filled with small slips. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

A lanky year twelve chose first. "Fire," he announced with undisguised apathy before returning to his seat.

"Love," breathed a shy ninth-year. "If only I've had the experience," she sighed.

Same, girlie. Same.

Eventually, it was my turn to pick. I went last and ended up with "home."

"You all have two weeks to compose the piece. It must be at least four minutes in length but no longer than ten. Based on the instrument you choose and the difficulty of your piece, you'll be paired with two musicians from the classical music performance intensive class. From there you'll have one week to tweak your piece and help rehearse. At the end of it all, we'll hold a recital. Got it, brats?"

All us brats nodded.

You know, I'm a bit nervous. I think I can compose for the piano just fine, I played it for a little while after all (although I'm not very good), but I don't even know how a stringed instrument _works_. Like, what's the range for the cello? Or the violin? Or the one instrument that absolutely no one knows (the viola)?

Oh well. I'll manage. I'll just listen to a bunch of recordings that I have laying around the house and figure it out for myself.

* * *

 **9:45 pm.**

Ate dinner at the cheapest place I could find. It was a really shady street stall that sold really shady stuff on sticks (three for 100 yen), but hey, it's either stomach flu or eviction. So far, I've been doing okay. No rumble-tummy or gassy-passy for meeee!

Right now I'm wallowing in my pathetic jobless state and listening to a multitude of recordings. I think I'm going to choose the cello. The cello is a beautiful instrument. Probably the easiest to compose for. The violin is just too high and a bit screechy for me and the viola is...I don't even know. Obscure? Yeah, too obscure. I only have two recordings of it. Not bad though.

I'm tired. I have English homework to do (I hate English) and a job to find. And fast.

* * *

 **August 25, 1999. 8:15 am.**

 **T-minus two days till impending eviction. Just woke up. Back aches.**

I fell asleep on the floor listening to the recordings. Finished half my English homework, but it's fine since I have it in the afternoon. I'll just do it on the bus or at lunch or something.

I found another sweet potato hidden in the fridge. You know, I really hate sweet potatoes after the incident yesterday, but I'm also really hungry and really low on food, so I eat it anyway. I feel like that tore at my sweet potato-stained pride a bit.

Gotta go get ready for school. I'll write later. _Ciao, bellas!_

* * *

 _ **A/N** I wrote this in one day. I'm proud of myself. Hence the uber fast update. (Don't expect this on a regular basis though. After this week, my life is gonna be insaaaaane.) I'm trying to get as much published now since I know I won't have as much time later._

 _So...yeah. Not a very good time for Suzume. But it'll get better, I promise! And more Itachi soon, but I'm trying to keep a realistic pace here, aight?_

 _Also, special thanks to_ Kale _for the super nice n motivating review._

 _Thanks a bundle for reading! Reviews are love!_

 _\- morninggrey_


	3. Shinobi Bar 'n' Grill

**7:21 pm.**

 **Job hunting in the *shady* part of Konoha. Will work for money.**

It was a rather uneventful day. Genma-sensei greeted me as "Sweet Potato Girl" and this time I threw an eraser at him, which he caught, much to my dismay. Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks paid no heed to me and was once again mobbed by females shoving a variety of food in his face. I drank water and ate air for lunch, tuned out my English-sensei, expended as little energy as possible during PE, and admired Jiraya-sensei's collection of ceramic frogs. Not very exciting.

Over the years, I've found that the best place to find jobs are also the shadiest. Like, the part of town where if you turn the wrong corner you'll end up in the Black Market or something. Here in Konohagakure, the best places to find jobs are where all the alcohol is at, farthest from the school but close enough to the rich part of town, where people have enough money to indulge themselves with vodka. Or cocainne. Or both.

Anyways, I flitted in and out of various stores and restaurants practically begging for a job, using various excuses ("My mother is in the ICU and we have no money!" "My father just died and left no will!" "I need drugs!"), but I was either given a nasty look or thrown out unceremoniously. This happened at about twenty different places for about forty-five minutes.

But just as I was about to give up and go home, a miracle in the form of a "help wanted" sign appeared.

The place was called "Shinobi Bar 'n' Grill" and honestly, it didn't look very reputable. A neon sign advertising "the best sake, sirloin, and sweets around" blinked on and off from the window. I was a bit cautious, but it had a few customers and it didn't look _that_ suspicious, so I went inside.

"Hey, kid, you know we won't sell you any alcohol."

A grey haired man with a mask in sweatpants and a muscle tee (at this point I was really questioning my judgement of this place) called out to me from the bar. He was leaning on the counter with his arms crossed in front. The guy was a bit young for grey hair. Like, I know some people can grey at their thirties, maybe, but this guy was twenty-five tops _._ Maybe he was uber stressed to the max and ended up aging super prematurely, so he also has to use a mask to hide his wrinkles. Or maybe he just dyed it.

"I'm, uh, not here for a drink. I'm just wondering if you're hiring. I saw the help wanted sign and I really," I breathe in deeply, " _really_ need a job."

At this, he straightened. "Kid, how old are you?"

With my previous experience, I decide not to answer with specifics. "Old enough."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you now?" He beckons me to the bar and I sit down. "What's your name? Any work experience?"

"Well, ah, my name's Yamamoto Suzume." I shift a little in the seat. I'm too short for it. "I was a cashier at the Ninja Mart for two years before it closed down. And I worked at The TapRoot for a few months."

"Eh? TapRoot? The one owned by Shimura Danzo?"

Ooh, that name makes me want to punch a wall.

"Uhuh. Yeah. Not his biggest fan though."

The grey-haired man narrowed his eyes at me, scanned me up and down, and then nodded. "Well, neither am I. I used to work for him too. Nasty way with business, that guy."

I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe our mutual hatred could -

"That doesn't mean I'm going to hire you though."

Damn.

I sigh. Well, that's disappointing.

"Look," he says, "I don't know your circumstances, but whatever they are, they clearly aren't very good if you've come to this part of town for a job. For all I know, you could've spent all your savings on drugs or something."

I open my mouth in protest. "Hey -"

"Plus," he continues, cutting me off in the process, "considering the fact that you worked for Danzo, either left or got fired, and are currently a bit desperate for a job here, I can't help but think that something either very pressing or highly illegal transpired at your time at TapRoot."

I gape for a moment, realize my mouth is open and I probably look like an idiot, and promptly close it.

"I will neither deny or admit to your statement -"

"Regardless," there he goes, interrupting me yet again, "if I hire you, I need you to promise me something."

At the mention of a possibility of getting hired, I immediately perk up. "Yes! Anything!"

"Wait. I take that back. I've got two things."

"Oh, uh, yes to that as well!"

He nods. "First, no matter what, do _not_ ever come into contact with Danzo ever again. Do not go to TapRoot, do not tell anyone you worked at TapRoot. If you see him on the street, turn away. Got it?"

I nod. I wasn't planning on talking to that slimy businessman anyways.

"Second...well, this is more of an assurance on my part rather than yours. I realize that you're probably in an unfavorable situation at the moment, and it's really none of my business to interfere. But if I _ever_ ," he looks me straight in the eye (he's actually pretty scary goddamn), "suspect that something is going on that could put you, or more importantly, me or my bar in the slightest bit of danger, I _will_ contact the appropriate people." I audibly gulp. "Do I make that clear?"

I nod. And nod more. I nod the amount that it takes to let him know that I understand.

Suddenly, as if he didn't even sort of threaten me the moment before, he lightens up and gives a close-eyed smile. "Good." He tosses me a shirt. "That's your uniform. I don't care what you wear it with. Your shift'll start at six tomorrow and end at ten. Sundays are off. Any questions, ah, what's your name again?"

I'm too relieved, excited, and elated to care that he forgot. "Just call me Suzume. And yeah, I've got two."

"Shoot."

"What's your name?"

"Hatake Kakashi. Just Kakashi is fine."

"Alright, Kakashi. And...when's my first paycheck?"

* * *

 **August 26, 1999. 9:41 am.**

 **In math. T-minus seven days until first paycheck. T-minus one day until angry, angry, angry landlady. First day of Yamamoto Suzume's official once-again-employed status.**

I barely got to school on time today. I went to bed really late last night because I was so happy I ended up dancing (or flailing, if looked at objectively) to the entirety of my favorite Swan Lake recording. And then I slept on the floor. And then I woke to cannons.

I love Tchaikovsky, if you can't already tell. I really do. If he weren't dead and in Russia, I totally would have married him.

Anyways, I slipped into class so fast before the bell rang that Genma-sensei didn't even have the time to greet me (hah!) and Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Lines even looked over when I practically leapt into my seat.

He gave me a look that I translated to "why?" and I responded with a shrug that translated to "woke up late."

I don't think my actual message _really_ got across, but I don't think it particularly matters.

* * *

 **2:53 pm.**

 **In English, ignoring the teacher as she rants about the appropriate use of quotation marks.**

I decided to treat myself to the 300 yen curry bread today, since I am now officially employed after two panic-filled days of unemployed-ness.

You know, after holding a two relatively steady jobs for a total of two years and eight months, being unemployed feels really uncomfortable. I can honestly say I'm relieved, even if I have to wash toilets and clean up the mess of a bunch of middle-aged drunkards.

Although, I do have a _minor_ problem with the timing of the paycheck (it's a full six days _after_ rent is due), but I'll talk my way around it. It's not like it hasn't happened before.

Anyways, since today is, you guessed it, IPAE day, I got to start on my composition. Or at least, attempted to start. I tried to think of a melody, or a line, or a place to start, but I really didn't know how.

Like, what the hell is "home" supposed to sound like? I don't even know.

* * *

 **10:21 pm.**

 **Post-work. Dead tired.**

Gosh. TapRoot is nothing in comparison to Shinobi Bar 'n' Grill. Even though it's half the size tucked away in the weird part of town, this place is a freaking _jungle._

I wore the shirt I got last night (which was baggy and too long) and a pair of shorts to work. Kakashi commented on how big it was on me, and I commented on how he should lose his beer belly. Which is a total lie, by the way, and he knew it. The guy's dead fit.

I think he lifts.

The first two hours of my shift were pretty slow, kind of like what I saw yesterday. Some people came in for a drink or a snack or dinner, watched the telly in the corner, talked to Kakashi, and left. Apparently this is also a pretty popular place for some high schoolers (most of them rich) to hang out after school as well, although Kakashi makes them sit away from the bar and refuses to serve them alcohol, no matter how much they beg. I didn't have that many things to clean so I just sat around and busied myself with rearranging the alcohol on the shelf, first by type, then by name, and then country of origin, and then by color, size, and shape. Then I ate a few of the pastries (which were damn good, by the way, the sign didn't lie) that the cook made.

And then when it hit eight, things started to really pick up. People started coming in by trickles, and then _BOOM!_ A hoard of people just ready to get drunk.

Soon I was serving and bussing and cleaning like I've never served and bussed and cleaned before, and now finally understand why Kakashi chose to hire me, despite my apparent shadiness. He probably couldn't stand one more day understaffed.

A few people were too drunk to notice that I was new, but most of the apparent regulars were surprised. A few called out to Kakashi asking about me. One guy asked "where he got me from" and he replied saying that I "came out from the streets like a rat" and "practically begged for the job."

I would have thrown the bottle in my hand at him, but frankly, he has my paycheck and I don't want to risk that. So I opted for a sickly sweet smile to the customer and a nasty glare Kakashi's way instead.

Even though it was tough work and pretty much non-stop, it wasn't that bad at all. The people, who are mostly younger and in their twenties, were friendly (Kakashi and the pastry-god chef included, but only when the former wasn't making fun of me). The atmosphere is really casual and laid back, unlike The TapRoot, which is stuffy and proper and full of old people in suits.

In other words, Shinobi Bar 'n' Grill is...hip.

Although, I've gotta say, there are some pretty weird people at that bar. There's this one guy who I'm pretty sure _lives_ on cigarettes, cuz he just _won't stop smoking._ There's a scary looking man that wears a bandana on his head who, when drunk, goes up to random people and interrogates them on their whereabouts that day. And - get this - there's a full grown man with a bowl cut in a green, skin-tight jumpsuit that constantly challenges Kakashi to rock-paper-scissors matches. And he's not even drunk when he does it.

By the time my shift was up at ten, I was ready to pass out. Kakashi offered to call a cab for me, but I said no. I feel too indebted to that guy already for the job and all, and I don't need a thirty yen ride on top of all that.

Anyways, tomorrow's going to be a long day. I should get to sleep.

* * *

 _ **A/N** I'm really tired. Writing is fun, but it's VERY TIME CONSUMING and SLEEP DRAINING._ _(But yes, here I am updating uber quickly again. I hope I can publish another chappie by the end of the week, but don't hold me to that.)_

 _Anyways, woo a job! Also, things will be picking up soon (these first few chapters are kind of slow) but I want things to progress naturally, so don't expect dramatic love confessions by next chapter or anything._

 _Also, THANK YOU TO ALL WHO REVIEWED! I honestly didn't expect the response that I got but I'm so happy that I did! Shoutout to_ TheAsylumEscape, TheCatAteMyTurtle, SixPastMidnight, _and the two guest reviews. You guys made my day!_

 _See you all next update!_

 _\- morninggrey_


	4. The Power of Destiny

**August 27, 1999. 12:23 pm.**

 **In the courtyard, alone again because it is so hot today that I think my glasses are going to melt off my face.**

This morning was weird. _Really_ weird. Weirder than the green-spandex-bowl-cut-man that I'm sure I'll see again today.

The first part of my day was relatively normal. I woke up a bit late (the cannons had just started), took a quick shower, threw my damp hair into a ponytail, cleaned my glasses, hastily drank a cup of tea, and ran off to catch the bus. Or at least tried to. My landlady kind of caught me along the way.

That's when things started to get weird.

"Yamamoto!"

I kept running.

"YAMAMOTO, YOU _BRAT!_ STOP RIGHT THERE!"

I froze.

My landlady, big chest and all, marched up to me with hands on her hips. Her lips were drawn in an irritated scowl.

"Rent. Leave it at the desk tonight."

"Well, uh, about that, can I talk to you later? I gotta go now so..."

"What do you mean _talk?_ "

I twiddle my thumbs. "You see, my dad," I swallow, "says he'll be sending the money a bit late this time, but he said it'll definitely be here by," I mentally count the days until my paycheck in my head, "next Thursday. So if you could just wait until then..."

My landlady narrows her eyes.

I cringe and brace myself. She's known for her temper, you know. One time, I remember she sent a tenant flying ten feet through the air because he came back to his apartment drunk and smashed a wall.

But thankfully, before anything could happen (and _anything_ could happen with my landlady, trust me), her assistant, who for some reason was soaking wet and carrying a _pig_ , comes running towards us.

"Tsunade-sama!" The pig squeals in unison. "A pipe burst on the fourth floor!"

My landlady sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering curse words under her breath. She turns to me. "We'll discuss this later when you come back from school. Five in my office. Don't be late." Then she leaves to catch up to her assistant who has left a trail of wet footprints on the floor.

Needless to say, my encounter with the landlady resulted in my tardiness. I walked into class as Genma-sensei was lecturing on sine or cosine or arcsine or whatever.

"Ah, Sweet Potato Girl has appeared." A few kids laugh quietly at the name. "You're late."

Unfortunately, I have nothing in my hands that I can immediately use as a projectile to his face, so I just march on to my seat as if I never heard him.

And then, as if I didn't already have enough weirdness with Tsunade and her wet pig-wielding assistant, the kid next to me speaks.

Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks speaks. To me.

Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks speaks _to me._

He looks at me with this combination of bemusement, curiosity, and a tad superiority. And then he says:

"Good morning, Sweet Potato Girl."

I blink. And then I say the first thing that pops into my head.

"Good morning, Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks."

(Seriously, what the hell? Did I really say that? Oh God, I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.)

He blinks. I blink.

"...dark hair and stress marks?"

He says it so quietly I barely catch it.

It's just too awkward, and I hate explaining myself because everything _just comes out wrong_ , so I decide ignore him and pretend I didn't hear. But by the way he glanced over, I'm pretty sure he knew I heard.

I spend the rest of the time before lunch drifting in and out of attention, sometimes taking notes and other times doodling in the margins of my paper. It trailed off to become doodles of cats.

It's confirmed. I am Schumann reborn.

* * *

 **7:13 pm.**

 **At work, eating a pastry, trying to erase all traces of Icha Icha from my mind.**

I met with my landlady after school. She clearly wasn't in a good mood, since apparently the pipe that burst on the fourth floor was right above her own room, so now her place is all damp and soggy. Sucks.

I walk into her office at 5:05.

"You're late."

"Oh, uh, the bus was stuck in traffic."

She pinches her nose and sighs. "Right. Anyways, sit down."

I sit.

"So," she starts, "you said your rent will be paid by next Thursday? When your father sends the money?"

"Uh, yeah," I say. I have such eloquent vocabulary. "But I'm sure it'll be here by then," I hastily add.

"Right." You know, every time she says "right," I get the feeling that she doesn't actually believe me. "Yamamoto, how long have you stayed here? Four years? Five?"

"Five years?" I count in my head. "Yeah, I think."

"I haven't seen your dad since he first came around to sign the contract for this place." She gets a cup and a bottle from under her desk. Sake. "How is he?"

You know, I don't actually know how he is, since I haven't heard from him in a good three years. He used to send letters along with the allowance, and then just the allowance, and then nothing. I used to be upset about it - who wouldn't be? But you know, time heals all wounds, and now I barely think about it.

But, for the sake of legality and all things sans-child-protection-services, I don't say that.

"He's good. He just has to stay in, where was it? Kirigakure, I think. Yeah, for business."

It's a half-truth, at least. I say this all without looking at her eyes. Instead, I concentrate on the bottle of sake on her desk.

Ooh, it's the expensive kind. And strong. No wonder she looks hungover half the time.

"Yamamoto?"

I look up. "Yes?"

She looks at me, and she looks a bit weary and tired and sad like she's seen something from the past that she didn't want to see. And then I blink and she just looks stressed and hungover and ridiculously big-chested again.

"Just make sure he money's here by Thursday, or I'm kicking you out. Got it?"

I nod.

"Good. Now scram."

I scrammed. In fact, I scrammed so hard and so fast I made it to work early.

Although, I kind of wish I didn't, because I walked in to see Kakashi - grey hair, mask and all - reading a notoriously lewd pornographic novel.

"What the - _Icha Icha Paradise?"_

As soon as I say it, Kakashi looks up with a flash of panic that only lasts for a mere second. Then it passes and he smoothly shuts the book and puts it in his pocket.

"It's a delightful piece of literature, if I say so myself. Just because you're young and inexperienced in those areas doesn't mean you can judge. It is merely a _mature_ piece of work with the _slight_ sexual innuendo."

I feel myself twitch. Did he just call me _inexperienced_ in _those areas?_

Like, yeah, it's true, but I think he just called me a prude. Which isn't very nice. Even if I am underage.

So now I'm here, eating my 1000000th pastry (not an exaggeration, they're damn good), trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my boss (who has grey hair in his twenties and a mask and wears tight black muscle tees) reads _Icha Icha Paradise_.

* * *

 **August 28, 1999. 10:21 pm.**

 **Another day, another dollar. Still trying to wrap my mind around the whole** ** _Icha Icha_** **thing.**

Saturday passed without incident, thankfully. I really need more calm days like these.

I restocked my groceries (most of the stuff I bought were on sale or promotion or bought with coupons) so now I can actually have breakfast and lunch instead of tea and air. I ended up eating dinner at SBnG (Shinobi Bar 'n' Grill) a little before my shift started, since it's really convenient. I think I'm going to do that more often. Plus, I can stuff myself with pastries afterward.

The only downside is that Kakashi openly reads his disgusting book right in front of me while I eat at the bar. Sometimes he reads the passages out loud just to irritate me, so I throw peanuts at him.

As per usual, the hoard of drunk to-bes came in around eight. I ran around and served and bussed and cleaned. And then restrained the green-jumpsuit-guy from jumping Kakashi. Normal.

...gosh, when did my "normal" become so _weird?_

* * *

 **August 29, 1999.**

 **Free day.**

Today's summary: I spent my free day sprawled on the floor listening to recordings. And then I made tomorrow's lunch (rice balls). And then I made dinner (soup). And then I took a shower but then the hot water turned off. And then I was cranky.

* * *

 **August 30, 1999. 9:03 am.**

 **The start of my second week at KAPPA! And I'm _eaaaaaaarly!_**

I've made it my mission to be on time to school, since being called out as "Sweet Potato Girl" in front of the class is not fun.

So today, I set my alarm _extra_ loud to La Forza del Destino because it starts out with really loud trumpets that are only enhanced by the _extra_ loud setting of my alarm. And also because "The Power of Destiny" is such an epic name.

The Italians really know how to do it.

After I woke up though, I decided to change it back to my cannons. I'm too sentimental and mushy to let go of my cannons. So in the end, the Russians win over the Italians.

(Sorry, Italians. I still love your food though.)

I made it to class early. Yes, you read that correctly. I, Yamamoto Suzume, was the third person to enter the classroom, after the one over eager student in the first row and Genma-sensei himself. (Genma-sensei was so shocked he forgot to call me Sweet Potato Girl and just looked at me.)

Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks was pretty surprised too - he raised his eyebrows a good centimeter when he saw me at my seat before him (that's his shocked face, I think).

"...you're early."

"Why, yes. Yes I am."

"Why?"

I beam. He blinks.

"The power of destiny, that's why."

I don't think he understood, I mean, I barely understood myself, but he accepted my answer (or at least, I assumed he did) and turned to unpack his books.

You know, I'm starting to get used to Mr. Dark Hair And Stress Marks. He's not too bad, even if his range of expressions only go from nose wrinkling to eyebrow raising.

* * *

 **10:29 pm.**

 **Pooped.**

Work was exhausting. Had to clean up barf today. Must take shower.

* * *

 **August 31, 1999. 3:33 pm.**

 **In biology, listening to Jiraya-sensei discuss the many virtues of the female anatomy.**

I'm really glad I don't sit in the front of this class. The moment the word "breast" came out of our sensei's mouth, you could see the entire first row shuffle their desks back uncomfortably. Even my lab partner, who sleeps ninety-nine percent of the time, looked put-out.

But, as usual, Jiraya-sensei was too busy basking in the "frail yet subtly powerful essence of femininity" to really notice.

You know, with his type of frivolous vocabulary, I'd expect Jiraya-sensei to be a writer of some sort. Not that I'd read anything he'd write, of course, since it'd probably be some sort of lewd or cheesy romance.

I really hope we finish this anatomy unit soon. Or at least get past the reproductive system so he can stop saying "breast."

Anyways, pervy biology teachers aside, I am happy to report that I have found inspiration in my composition. Well, sort of. It's not ingenious or anything, and so far it's kind of mechanical, but hopefully I get paired with decent players. More specifically, a good pianist, because according to Anko-sensei that part is "a bit hard." She said this as she cackled maniacally and threw her dango stick at a dart board.

It hit the bullseye.

Remind me to never ever piss of Anko-sensei.

* * *

 _ **A/N** Hello all! I'm supposed to be packing and getting ready to go home but Suzume was shouting in my head so I had to write. Honestly, this chapter was a bit harder for me (I don't really know why), but oh well. I hope you enjoyed it!_

 _Thank you all who reviewed/favorited/followed!_ Juliedoo, SixPastMidnight, Kale, KillerSmiley90, _and guest, you are all wonderful bubs._

 _See you all soon (hopefully)!_

 _\- morninggrey_


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